


there is thunder in our hearts

by tgtchm



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: Car Sex, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 01:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12495156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tgtchm/pseuds/tgtchm
Summary: It takes Richard all of two minutes to put his hand on James' thigh, look at him through half-lidded eyes and purr, "I've always wanted to fuck in a Porsche."





	there is thunder in our hearts

**Author's Note:**

> this was originally published on the 19th September 2015 (by me under a different username) and I'm reuploading it now as a process of moving my works from one account to the other. it's been edited for punctuation errors but no more.

The drive from Dunsfold to James' place in Hammersmith is only an hour—long enough to keep one's lust in check, James would think. However it takes Richard all of two minutes to put his hand on James' thigh, look at him through half-lidded eyes and purr, "I've always wanted to fuck in a Porsche."

James flinches. "It's not even mine."

Richard just smiles. "So? We'll get it cleaned before it goes back."

James is quiet for a moment, pondering the possibilities, before shaking his head. "No. Imagine the logistics! Not everyone is the size of an amoeba, you know. The seats only go so far back. A gear lever—"

"—might go up a bottom, yes, I remember what happened to Clarkson too. I promise all of that won't matter when we're in the moment." Richard wheedles, his hand moving further up James' thigh. "Please?"

James bites his lip. The car they’re currently in is the Cayenne, Porsche’s idea of a luxury SUV. While sporting a little bit more wiggle room—so to speak—it lacks the romance factor of a 911, as he points out to Richard.

He shrugs, eyes dark with lust. “Honestly, just the idea of getting you off in a Porsche is enough for me.”

“It’s _ugly_ ,” he protests, his argument growing weaker by the minute. The idea of Richard, crawling on top of him and— _touching_ him like that, in here, is making him feel weak at the knees. Thank god he’s sitting down.

Richard sulks at that, removing his hand from James’ thigh and moving further away from him. “You’re so square sometimes, May.”

The use of James’ last name stings a little bit—it’s impersonal and a little bit cold. He doesn’t know how to respond, so they continue driving in silence, Richard staring stubbornly out the window.

***

“Pull over,” Richard barks, his voice making James jump a little bit, automatically slowing the car.

“What? Why? What’s wrong?” he asks, voice urgent, concerned.

“Nothing,” Richard snorts, voice derisive. “Relax, James. I just really need a piss.”

Pulling over onto the hard shoulder, he watches as Richard, in the cover of near-darkness, trots off into the grass beside the motorway. Hopefully he won’t get recognised—usually Clarkson is the one in all the tabloids, taking the heat off both of them, but it would be just their luck for Richard to be caught with his cock out on the side of the A3.

He’s nervous, suddenly, and he knows it’s because of Richard’s stupid proposal. As much as it excites him, it’s completely impractical, for all the reasons he listed off to Richard before, and more. They’re on the side of the motorway, anyone could see; he needs to get home to feed Fusker, before he starts tearing up the sofa; stains could get on the leather of the seats—

Richard opens the door and slides back into the car, shivering slightly and grinning madly. “I didn’t get photographed, did I?”

“I don’t think so. I would have noticed, I think. I hope,” James replies, biting back a smile.

Richard leans forward and fiddles with the heater, turning it up. “Probably for the best. Clarkson would get penis envy.”

James scoffs. “Penis envy? Really, Richard. He’d be more insulted that we were driving this car.”

And silence settles over them like a blanket as he realises—too late—that he’s successfully turned the conversation back to the car. His heart begins to race as Richard sways a little closer, enough to feel his body heat. It’s intoxicating.

James turns to look at him, and Richard is practically vibrating in his seat, pupils wide. It’s natural for Richard, when he gets hyped up—which is often—but it makes his eyes look huge, and James feels like he’s falling, like he’s lost all control, his sanity slipping through his fingers like sand.

That was how he had felt when this had all started, a month ago. They’d been the last to leave the studio after filming, had both found ways to keep busy so it looked like they weren’t being deliberate. James had wandered over to the sofa and sat down on it, pretending to read Clarkson’s vague, scribbled notes for next week's filming. In truth, he was keeping one eye on Richard, who was wandering around the studio too, pretending to ignore James.

He couldn’t remember when they’d started to feel so electric around each other, but all of a sudden James knew when Richard walked into a room, couldn’t keep his eyes off the younger man who was now someone entirely new in his eyes. Richard was bigger, brighter, louder— more colourful. He couldn’t figure out why, only that it bothered him. He couldn’t stand next to Richard in the portakabin, because he was acutely, painfully aware of every minute movement he made. He could barely even sit next to him on the sofa, during filming; somehow they’d made it through without making it _too_ obvious, but Clarkson had given them both odd looks. It had been driving him insane, and he didn’t like it.

So it was no surprise when Richard sat down next to him on the sofa and just stared at him, those big brown eyes open wide. “I’ve seen you watching me, you know.” 

James blanched. Was he that obvious? He opened his mouth to respond, from a number of preselected responses he’d run through in his head earlier, but nothing came out. He was frozen.

Richard slid closer, eyes mischievous now. “I don’t mind it.” He glanced down, and then back up through his lashes—a tactic James had seen girls use before, many times. “I’ve been watching you too.”

A lorry rushes past the Cayenne, making it rock a little bit, shocking James back to the present— back into falling closer to Richard, reaching for him, not knowing anything except that this is what he needs right now, embracing the chaos.

When their lips meet, it sends a jolt of electricity through him, just like it had that day on the couch in the studio. Kissing Richard is like nothing he’s ever done before; even the Veyron can’t compare to the feel of Richard, tugging his hair gently, mouth opening wider. Richard’s tongue touches his and he closes his eyes, feels Richard in his bloodstream, in the air he breathes, and he gasps and shudders and fists his hands in Richard’s shirt, pulling him closer across the centre console.

“Mmmph,” Richard moans, clambering over to sit on James’ lap, head bending at an uncomfortable angle, a grin crossing his features. “I knew I’d win you round.”

“We’re on the hard shoulder, Richard, for god’s sake, a lorry could hit us and we’d die in a very compromising position—Christ,” he breathes, cut off by Richard squirming forward, pushing his erection into James. “The benefits of youth.”

“Move your seat back. My neck hurts,” Richard whines, moving forward again.  
Grumbling, James obliges, lowering it as far as he can and reclining it, looking over in a panic to make sure the car is in park and the handbrake is on. He doesn’t have a chance to turn the ignition off, however, because Richard sets upon him immediately, kissing him furiously, hands trailing all over James’ chest and belly, dipping underneath his shirt to dig his nails in, wriggling frantically all the while.

James runs his hand up Richard’s thighs and cups his arse—Christ, Richard has a fantastic arse, pert and round and perfect—and yanks him in, closer, so Richard is grinding down on his rapidly hardening cock. It’s forward of him, but while he’s worried about knocking the car out of park or a lorry squishing them, Richard overrides it all by being totally and completely tempting.

Richard’s hands make deft work of his fly, and as his small hand closes around James’ erection, he lets his head roll back onto the headrest, biting back a groan. Richard starts stroking in earnest, leaning forward to press kisses to James’ neck, collarbone, cheek—anywhere he can reach. He runs his thumb over the top of James’ cock, spreading precum around, making his next stroke that more hot and wet and James twists in the seat, trying to keep his feet free of the pedals, reaching to caress Richard in turn to return the favour.

Diving underneath the waistband of Richard’s jeans, he gives a lazy tug on Richard’s cock, feeling Richard’s hand tighten on his own erection in response. Richard bends forward, leaning over him and moans loudly. “Don’t stop.”

James claps a hand over Richard’s mouth, an instinctive reaction. “Be quiet.”

Richard smirks, and bites James’ fingers gently. “We’re on the motorway, you git. No one could hear us if they tried.” As if to prove his point, a car roars past, horn blaring, drowning out the last syllable.

“They could see us—” he starts to reply, but Richard cruelly twists his wrist, making him forget what he was going to say.

They don’t speak after that, the only noise the sounds of flesh on flesh and gasping and moaning. James loves the way Richard looks like this, flushed and damp and completely in the throes of pleasure, brown eyes staring into James’, tongue running out to wet his lips. He is the single most beautiful thing James has ever laid eyes on, and he’s all his. He strokes faster, marvelling silently at the way he can make Richard come undone with just his hands.

Richard comes first, spilling onto James’ shirt with a cry, taking a moment to recover before helping James through his climax, too. His hands stroke fast and hard as James writhes beneath him, the orgasm building slowly through his body—and then he’s coming, all at once, his back arching and fingers digging into Richard’s thigh as his foot slips onto the accelerator, making the car rev, a loud, furious noise that makes them both jump.

Richard is braced above him, arms on either side of his shoulders, forehead damp with sweat. He shakes his head ruefully. “Captain Slow. Always coming last.”

James flushes, but ignores the jibe. “Did that fulfil your wildest fantasies?” he asks, eyes twinkling. He feels awful and sticky, and he desperately needs a shower, but thankfully they’re not that far from Hammersmith.

Richard cocks his head, considering. “It was pretty good. But…” James braces for a criticism, but there's none—Richard smiles evilly instead. “But I think we should try it again in a 911.”

James laughs and shoves Richard off, watches with kind eyes as the younger man zips himself back up and buckles himself in, doing the same before moving his seat forward and pulling off into the night, one hand holding Richard’s.


End file.
